


Firehouse Rendezvous

by Crimson1



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Firemen, First Kiss, First Time, Lapdance, M/M, Pole Dancing, Stripping, barry in a garter belt, fireman's pole used for pole dancing, mick is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years have passed and The Flash and Rogues are no longer at odds. When Mick, now a firefighter, shows Barry and Len around the firehouse, Len catches Barry doing something far more impressive with the fireman's pole than simply sliding down it...and gets some wicked ideas. After they start dating, Barry has several wicked ideas of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firehouse Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldflashtrash](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=coldflashtrash).



> Yet another tumblr prompt, and since this was from an anon, I'm dedicating it to coldflashtrash, since I remember several of these headcanons being discussed once. If you are interested in following me on tumblr, I'm http://crimsondomingo.tumblr.com/
> 
> Prompt: ColdFlash with the line "I think you missed your calling." See tags for the rest of the upcoming hilarity and sexiness.
> 
> And definitely check out this amazing fanart by kipsiih: http://kipsiih.tumblr.com/post/128944356344

Len never expected this. Working with The Flash to thwart villains’ evil plans of world domination or destruction was one thing. Following the rules set between himself and The Flash to not involve innocents or get people killed—easy. It also made his work more fun and challenging, to be honest. 

But things had slowly shifted to more than just occasional good deeds, and now, years after meeting the Scarlet Speedster, without Len even realizing it was happening until it was too late, the Rogues weren’t even criminals anymore but protectors of Central City right alongside The Flash. Even Hartley and Mardon had gone straight. Well, within context in Hart’s case.

But the strangest and perhaps most amazing part was that Mick Rory, Len’s own best friend and known pyromaniac…had recently joined Central City’s Fire Department as part of his parole. The rehabilitation programs started by Team Flash in conjunction with CCPD were truly something else. 

Barry Allen himself showed up to check on Mick while Len was visiting him at the station, getting the grand tour, which turned into a joint tour with Barry’s appearance, and allowed the three of them to catch up, since oftentimes these days they were on opposite sides of the city (or world depending) handling various crises. 

“Iris is pregnant again,” Barry told them. “She and Eddie keep threatening to name this one after Uncle Barry.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Mick said. “They could call him Bart.”

Barry made a strained face. “That’s what Iris said. No thanks.”

Len chuckled. Several people amidst their various teams had turned domestic, or were at least married if not settled down. His own sister was dating Cisco Ramon, and Len knew it was only a matter of time before the young scientist came knocking on his door with trembling knees and a question for his blessing. Len would only make him sweat a little when that happened. 

The three men walking the second floor of one of Central City’s largest fire houses seemed to be the only bachelors left. 

They reached the expected fireman’s pole just off the lounge where any waiting firemen upstairs would easily be able to slide down to their gear and jump into action. Barry eyed it like the kid Len had first thought of him as—and honestly, the kid he had been, and still was in many ways. 

Especially since his eyes lit up when Mick said, “Go ahead, Allen, you can slide down. I gotta check my schedule for helping out Len this week by the docks. We’ll meet you down there.”

Barry grinned widely and hopped on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, you know, I’ve just…never gotten to do this before.”

“You can cross the span of the entire city in minutes,” Len quirked an eyebrow at him, “but sliding down a fireman’s pole excites you.”

“It’s the little things, Snart,” Barry said with a coy shrug. He wasn’t dressed well for sliding, since he had a long jacket on over his slacks and dark burgundy dress shirt, but he curled his ankles around the pole with ease as he grabbed on and zipped down the pole with nearly as much speed as Len was used to watching him run. 

Len couldn’t help chuckling to himself again as he followed after Mick into the office.

A few minutes later, Len headed down to the first floor alone. Mick had gotten a call he had to take and asked Len to give Barry his apologies. Maybe Len would ask the speedster out for lunch if he didn’t have anywhere to flash off to. It had been a while, and he could admit…he missed the days when he had The Flash all to himself. He missed their one-on-ones, playfully fighting and chasing each other across the city. Fighting side by side was fun too, but meeting Barry head on as a challenge was something Len couldn’t replace with any villains he beat down. 

The station was mostly empty, so the quiet worried him that Barry might have had to dash off and was already gone when he went looking for the bottom of the fireman’s pole. He considered calling out, but ended up stopping short when he came around the side of one of the fire trucks to see the pole, tucked into the corner by the lockers, hidden from view, where Barry Allen was still attached.

And currently spinning around the pole like a dancer—a very specific type of dancer—with a strength Len envied. Holding himself up with his arms like he weighed nothing, coiling his legs up the pole as he spun, a grin of pure enjoyment on his face, as he twirled and dipped his head back, and became half hidden by his coat whenever he hoisted his legs up further so that he was practically upside down. 

It was impressive acrobatics and control, even in cumbersome clothes, which made it only too easy for Len to envision Barry in something less constricting—like a thong, his long legs bare and extending around the pole, muscles flexing, chest smooth and toned, face flush from exertion… 

Len had frozen in place, the images he’d just conjured with Barry’s performance making his own face heat up and flush openly. He shook his head to shake such telling reactions away as he called out, “I think you missed your calling, Scarlet!”

Barry promptly lost his grip on the pole, his body mostly horizontal at the time, and dropped in a spectacular display of clumsiness and flailing limbs.

Len couldn’t help laughing as he approached and reached a hand down to help his former nemesis back up. “Get bored waiting for us? Or was that also something you’d always wanted to try?”

Barry’s face was as red as his Flash suit as he tentatively accepted the hand and allowed Len to hoist him to his feet. He immediately scratched the back of his head when Len released him, and averted his gaze. “I, uhh…figured I’d hear if anyone was coming.”

“That doesn’t actually answer my questions, Barry,” Len teased him, gripping the pole himself now as he circled the kid until the pole was between them, his fingers playing along the cool metal tantalizingly. 

Barry’s eyes darted none-too subtly to the way his hand gripped it, and squeezed, and tapped his fingers. Barry blushed harder, and that was…interesting. 

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d even been to a strip club before, kid.”

“I haven’t!” Barry said, hazel eyes finally darting to Len’s and then averting to the side again with another scratch of his head. “Even for Eddie’s bachelor party, we just hung out at the house, got only mildly rowdy, you know. And you remember Oliver’s.”

How could Len forget? 

“I’m just usually a klutz when I’m not running. Wanted to see if I could even do anything remotely agile without failing miserably. Obviously I proved to be my usual graceless self. I’m sure I looked like an idiot.” He brought the hand in his hair down to his neck and hung on tight like he was digging in his nails from embarrassment.

“Not…the word I’d use,” Len said, with perhaps more husk and approval than he would have ever allowed enter his voice in the past. It could be dangerous, after all. He and Barry were friends now. It was even more dangerous than it used to be—having a crush on his enemy.

But when Barry’s eyes met his, Len didn’t feel any need to backpedal or take the sentiment back. His brain supplied an image of Barry in nothing but a black thong again, and their working relationship made that quite easy to picture since he had caught glimpses fairly close to that, not to mention the tight cling of the Flash suit. 

“Hungry?” Len asked when Barry merely continued to stare at him like he wasn’t sure what he was reading from his old nemesis Captain Cold, and that was fine; Len was playing this one by ear. “I haven’t eaten and Mick’s been detained. Don’t you need your regular dose of calories by now, Scarlet?”

The heated moment broke with the tease, the joke, the familiar pet name, and Barry looked away with a laugh. “You’re on, Cold. I’m starved.”

It was almost a month later when Len finally admitted to Barry his brief fantasy of the fireman’s pole, having seen Barry twirling on it. By then they had gone on what they could finally admit to each other were several ‘dates’ and Len was starting to get anxious about pushing things further. They were grown men, and so far all they’d done was kiss. 

Though the first kiss, after their third not-quite-date, had been all too perfect—Barry walking Len back to his apartment, crowding him just slightly against the door, eyes wide with apprehension like he wasn't sure this was allowed, until Len helped things along, lifted a hand to Barry's face, and pulled him the rest of the way in.

It seemed tirelessly juvenile and…sweet that they hadn't gone further. Len wanted a little rough now to balance things out, but he didn’t want to push Barry. 

So when Barry told him to pick him up for their next date at the firehouse, Len was confused but highly intrigued. It was too late for dinner, late enough that the firehouse was empty except for a single sentry, since several of the firemen lived close enough to be on call. The sentry being Mick didn’t surprise Len, given that Barry was orchestrating this, but when Len arrived and found Mick upstairs—no Barry—he didn’t know how to read the crooked smirk on his friend’s face. 

“Downstairs, lover boy. You better hope no fires happen tonight. But I got your back.”

Len blinked at him. “What? Where’s—”

“Downstairs,” Mick said again, and pushed Len toward the stairwell back the way he’d come from. 

It had been dark down there, quiet, so Len hadn’t thought to look around much and had headed straight up to the office. Now, as he listened carefully, looking around at the quiet garage area with only a few scant lights on, a slow creeping realization dawned on him. 

“Barry?” he called as he headed around the main firetruck. 

“Here,” Barry called back just as Len cleared the truck to an unimpeded view of the fireman’s pole—and Barry standing beside it, one hand curled around the pole. He was dressed in a very tiny pair of black briefs, much like Len had described to him…but accompanied by a garter belt and black stockings. 

Len achieved half-mast in about ten seconds. “Barry…” he said in a much gruffer voice than he thought he was capable of. 

Barry flushed clear down his chest—his sooth, hairless, muscled chest that led to the fine lines of his hips and…this was not something Len had ever expected of Barry Allen, at least not when they hadn’t even had sex yet. He had a pretty good suspicion that was about to change.

“I may have confessed this plan to Felicity,” Barry rambled out rapid-fire, “who both encouraged and convinced me to go through with this and had ideas on the outfit, so if it’s too ridiculous—”

“It’s perfect,” Len said. He had half a mind to continue his trek to the pole and grab a handful of Barry—any part of him, really, as there was so much on display—but then he noticed a chair placed in front of the pole. Barry wanted to give him a show. Len was completely on board with this idea. 

Len had dressed nicely but not over the top for the evening, in dark jeans, a heather grey V-neck sweater, his black trench. He walked with an eager saunter to the chair, sat, and raised an eyebrow at Barry expectantly, spreading his legs just enough to reveal to Barry that he was already very much enjoying the show. 

Barry’s eyes darted down Len’s body, lingered right where Len had purposefully led his eyes, then trailed back up to catch his insistent gaze, and smiled. There was a sweetness to the expression, there always was, but with a touch of confidence now, of playfulness that set Len’s heart rate stuttering. 

It was then that Len noticed the music playing, only loud enough to be heard there in the corner by the pole. It seemed to start over, like it was on repeat, waiting for when Len would show up, a powerful driving beat that Barry had chosen just for this moment. The lyrics were purposely sensual, and a little cynical, but seemed to tell the story of just how unlikely they were to have gotten this far together after starting out as enemies. 

Barry teased him at first, moving around the pole with only one hand gripping it, then the other as he leaned back and swung, both feet planted near the base—his stocking-clad feet in black to match the garters and the slim covering between his legs. 

Len shifted in the chair. 

As the song picked up, so too did Barry’s pace and the intricacy of his movements with the pole. His strength was amazing as he gripped it with both hands and lifted himself effortlessly, flipping his head back and his feet toward the ceiling until he was upside down, legs spreading wide at a leisure pace and then curling up the pole as he spun around it. He lowered himself just as slowly using only his arms for support, not even resting his feet on the ground before he twirled again, legs stretching out away from the pole before wrapping around it quickly to pick up speed as he spun—a normal, tantalizing speed. 

The way the skimpy, near thong-like briefs clung to Barry, showed off the curves of his ass almost obscenely, though that wasn’t nearly as obscene as the way it clung between his legs, barely containing the bulge there that was steadily growing, hardening before Len’s eyes from the adrenaline surging through Barry and thoughts of what surely awaited them at the end of this.

Len desperately wanted to touch himself, but forced himself to hold off, wait, see where the kid would take this. He thought the acrobatics with the pole were impressive, but it was when Barry touched down that things were brought to a new level. He moved like a wave, a roll of his hips toward the pole that rippled through his whole body, so that all Len could think about was how much he wished he was that pole, inches from Barry moving like that, in that outfit, glistening with a small sheen of sweat as he danced, and rocked his hips, and used the pole to show off his body and how limber it could move. 

When the song ended, Len honestly wasn’t sure if it had been a single rotation or was already past the second, but when it started up again from the beginning, Barry met his hungry gaze and left the pole behind. Any bashfulness Barry might have been feeling was clearly pushed aside in the wake of Len’s response to all this, which he highly doubted he was hiding all that well, since he was rock solid in his jeans and breathing heavily just from looking at Barry. 

Barry’s hips moved in subtle sways as he danced toward him, grinning coyly, feeding off the reactions he was causing, and nearly spilling out of the thong now, drawing Len’s attention to it, because he really, really wanted to do something to help Barry out with that. 

Len was brought back to conscious thought with the touch of Barry’s hand on his chin, coaxing him to look up and meet his eyes, which were blown black with lust. Barry drew in closer to Len, slowly, straddling his lap but keeping his own hips lifted, still subtly swaying, dancing. 

Len’s hands were braced on his thighs. “Am I allowed to touch…?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Barry’s already flushed cheeks darkened further, but more from excitement, Len thought, and arousal rather than shyness. He nodded. 

Len slid his hands to Barry’s hips, feeling the lace of the garter belt contrasting with Barry’s smooth, impossibly soft skin. Barry’s chest was barely an inch from Len’s face, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow between Barry’s pecks. 

Barry whimpered, hesitating with a near dip down of his hips like he just wanted to sit and grind against Len, but resisted to make this last longer. He kept his dancing low so that he just barely brushed Len, skimming the denim Len was straining against. 

“Barry…I’m going to need to get out of these jeans soon…” Len said as he leaned back, squeezing Barry’s waist between his hands. 

Barry gave a low chuckle. “That’s the idea.”

He moved his hands down the front of Len’s sweater, having to lean down just slightly for his fingers to find the zipper to Len’s jeans and carefully bring it down, unclasp the button, open them up, and reach inside right past the slit of his boxers to pull him free. 

Len mourned the loss of the hand immediately, because Barry pulled it away, returned his hands to Len’s shoulders, and resumed his dance, the soft cotton of his barely-there covering brushing Len’s skin now and…

“Fuck, Scarlet…you definitely missed your calling.”

Barry chuckled again, adorably devilish. “For what? Pole dancing…? Lap dancing…?” he pulled just slightly back and dropped his hands to his own waistline, brushing Len’s hands aside as he slid his thumbs into the waistband of the underwear and slid them down by a bare millimeter so that Len caught a peek of him straining to get free, “…or stripping?”

Len bucked his hips up, trying to get more contact, any contact. “All of the above. Don’t stop now…” he pleaded and watched with rapt attention as Barry drew the underwear down further, further, leaving only the garters that looked so sinful and glorious framing his—

The alarms went off with a shrill of instantaneous noise. 

Barry and Len both froze. Several men and women, including Mick upstairs, were trained to respond to that sound in minutes. Shit. 

Barry scrambled off of Len, flashing over to the corner where a pile of clothing and his phone, Len now saw, rested, which had been what was playing the music. Barry turned it off and looked back at Len, who had tucked himself away but hadn’t yet zipped his jeans when Barry gave him a ravenous, calculating stare. 

“What—” Len started to say, but was interrupted by a lurch and rush of air. When he caught his breath, Barry was pressed against him, a wall at his back, their surroundings tight, close, and dark, but the sound of the alarm still blared nearby. 

“They don’t store anything in here they use for fires,” Barry whispered. 

Len realized they were in a closet, still in the fire station, downstairs, and close to where the sound of running feet and voices soon began to fill the room outside the door that Len could see beyond Barry’s bare shoulders. 

Barry was pressed up against him, in that skimpy outfit, in a dark, confined space. Len reached around him and grabbed a handful of the speedster’s ass. Barry moaned and ground his hips forward, grinning when he looked up and they met gazes heatedly and close inside the closet. Barry found Len again inside his jeans, curling his fingers around him this time and pulling promisingly. Len pressed his head back into the wall. 

A few minutes, just a few minutes and the firemen would all be suited up, ready, and gone. Then they could continue where they left off, or maybe he could have Barry flash them to somewhere more private, with a nice soft surface to lay him out on. But in the meantime…

“Keep showing me how those hips move, kid. You’ve revealed a brand new talent that I have every intention of exploiting.” He rocked his own hips steadily into Barry’s hand, against his slimly covered but equally hard erection between them, and leaned in for a kiss. 

The sound of the fire trucks roared to life, as Barry giggled, pumped his hips in time with Len’s, and returned the kiss, licking inside his mouth with all the lewd talent he’d displayed on that pole. If this was their first time…then Len was really going to have to step up his game for round two. 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Also, if anyone wants to take the plot bunny I left in there about Oliver’s bachelor party, it’s all yours.


End file.
